


in a rabbit run

by viriditas



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Thieves, M/M, ft cameos of other hockey players
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-01-22 18:21:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12487964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viriditas/pseuds/viriditas
Summary: “What the fuck,” he repeats, higher this time. Out of the six paintings, they were meant to take, three are missing. Taylor’s laughter comes again, louder this time, and Leon winces, wishing his hands weren't busy so he could take the earpiece off, hop on a plane to Cologne, and tell his dad he was sorry he ever left and could he please get to work on the clean side of the family.Fucking thieves.





	in a rabbit run

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elegencie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegencie/gifts).



> Dear Steph: It’s been a month since I’ve been trying to put into words just how much you mean to me, and I’m still struggling with what to say. I hope this story is a good show of it. Happy birthday, mi mora ♡
> 
> A huge thanks to Juji, Ash, Lotts and May for the beta-ing and cheerleading + Siken for the easter egg quote!! Any mistake you might spot is mine and mine only.

The door opens swiftly, and Leon is temporarily, unexpectedly blinded by the lights in the art gallery. He blinks once, twice, willing the white spots away. Immediately, he notices that there’s something off about the place.

The three guards—who were meant to be in their shared office at this hour, either drinking coffee or dozing off—are lying near the back of the second floor, too close to his target. It takes Leon more time than it should to notice the broad, muscular expanse of the man's shoulders, half-hidden behind a rope barrier, calmly removing a small canvas from the wall.

He’s frozen, every nerve in his body screaming fight-or-flight, wincing at the sound of his breath, too loud to his ears. The stranger hums under his breath, pops his gum once, apparently satisfied with the painting in his arms, and walks back to where Leon is, seemingly forgetting that there is, in fact, a rope there that will make him at the best trip and at the worst fall.

Naturally, the other thief falls on his back, clutching the painting to his chest as if it were a child, and ends up staring at Leon upside down.

 _Of course_.

Leon blinks, stunned, while Taylor makes a concerned noise on the other side of the earpiece. Leon barely hears the _you alright, man?_ coming from Taylor as the unknown man blinks back at him. He's dressed in all black— _tight_ —clothing and is quick to get himself back on his feet. Leon thinks he looks embarrassed, but maybe it’s just him projecting. For a moment, the other man’s eyebrows are furrowed in confusion, before a spark of recognition shines in his eyes, his lips giving shape to a lopsided smile.

The silence is thick, and Leon clears his throat once, eyes scanning the rest of the room quickly. He gets his eyes back on the stranger, who is now carrying way too many paintings for one single person. Leon counts nine and hopes none of those are the ones he’s after.

“Connor says hi,” the man says, a couple meters away now, and Leon can see his eyes twinkling with mirth. His smile is bright enough that the lights in the room seem dim in comparison. Leon is pretty sure that, if his hands were free, the other man would salute him.

“What the fuck. Taylor, did you know about this?” Leon hisses, moving quickly towards the room, hoping that the guards have been knocked out hard enough to not notice it's _Gabriel_ doing the opposite of what he is being paid miserably to be doing in his internship. All he gets in reply is Taylor’s laughter, loud over the static of the earpiece. He mutters fervent thanks to Adam for sorting out the security system and the cameras in the gallery, knowing he’s probably listening in and walks further into the room with quick feet.

“What the _fuck_ ,” he repeats, higher this time. Out of the six paintings, they were meant to take, three are missing. Taylor’s laughter comes again, louder this time, and Leon winces, wishing his hands weren't busy so he could take the earpiece off, hop on a plane to Cologne, and tell his dad he was sorry he ever left and could he _please_ get to work on the clean side of the family.

Fucking thieves.

 

 

◀▶

 

 

Winter galas are the worst part of doing what he does, Leon thinks as he pretends to listen to Brett Seider III ( _call me Brett, please_ )—one of the latest additions to the elite of Edmonton—recount his latest hunting trip in Africa. Leon is steadfastly ignoring the way Mrs. Kathrin Seider ogles him whenever her husband isn’t looking because criminal actions be as they might, Leon draws the line at homewrecking.

The venue is as ostentatious as everyone was invited to it under the premise of a charity gala, and Christmas time is just around the corner. This means that every single person in this room will donate a minuscule fraction of their oil money after getting spectacularly drunk, then pat themselves on the back for being oh-so-kind.

The Seiders say goodbye after what feels like an eternity—it was actually ten minutes when Leon bothers to check—and Leon can finally breathe easier. He's not actually that uncomfortable—he's been in this exact environment countless times before—but tonight he feels an itch under his skin he can’t seem to shake. He wants to run, to hide, to do something, _anything_ besides rub elbows with the rich.

He scans the room as he sips from the expensive champagne flute in his hand.

Taylor and Jordan catch his eye, laughing as they’re seemingly boxed in by a group of jewel-clad women in their sixties that remind him of a pack of lionesses lurking around their prey. Too bad they don’t know it’s their wallets being preyed on. Leon feels quite content that he’s neither of them right now.

He spots Mrs. Claire—a widow well into her eighties who takes no shit from anyone, someone who Leon actually enjoys talking to—at the back of the room. Happy to take a break from talking about golf or whatever the fuck that man in front of him wants to talk about, Leon decides to approach her. With a grin, he excuses himself from the people he was making pleasantries with and starts walking. Leon smiles and waves at Taylor as they pass—but not lingering too much, careful to keep up their facade as just neighbors—when he notices Mrs. Claire laughing with a familiar face—

The guy from the gallery.

Leon is quick to remember the conversation he had with Taylor, a few days after they finished their work at the Alberta gallery.

 _Oh, that's probably Darnell Nurse. He works for Connor._ Taylor paused, scrunching his nose. _With him. I don't know; I don't ask him_ that _much about his work now_. Leon was, obviously, extremely annoyed with how everything went down, their pay getting cut short because of that mix-up.

Currently, he’s annoyed at just how _good_ Nurse looks wearing a black suit that fits him like a glove—at how, when he notices Leon, his smile turns lopsided briefly before he plasters on his show business smile for Claire.

There’s _no_ chance he’s getting in the middle of that right now. Too risky.

He opts to take one final sip of his glass of champagne and flags down a waiter for a refill, waiting a few moments before he strides towards the Gretzkys, very much aware of Nurse’s eyes boring into the back of his head.

 

* * *

 

Leon is alone on the balcony when Nurse sidles up next to him and leans against the railing, looking the kind of effortlessly cool Leon’s not sure he will ever manage. Nurse takes a long sip of the glass of red wine in his hand, takes his time savoring it.

“Nice night, right?” Nurse speaks, gesturing with his empty hand to the room that everyone but them seems to be in.

The itch under his skin has been replaced with a desire he can feel in his bones, something he can't just shake off. Nurse is just standing there, waiting for an answer, looking warm and inviting and Leon wants to take him home and rough him up, drive his body into Nurse’s like a car crash.

“If you think it’s cute to have Daisy Bigelow ogling your ass all night, maybe,” Leon says, an amused smile on his lips, hands pushed deep into his pockets. That startles a laugh from Nurse, and Leon feels something settle inside him.

“Leaving so soon?” Nurse asks, and Leon raises an eyebrow, trying to convey _I know that you know why I’m here_ and _you’ve been staring at me all night_ and _you_ know _you’re hot, so what are you playing at?_ all in one gesture.

Either Leon’s eyebrows are just that communicative, or Nurse has a script he was going to follow from the moment they first saw each other, a narrative he was willing to twist to have things go his way. Leon thinks it's good that he doesn't seem to be too aware of the fact that Leon was ready to say yes from the first glance they shared.

“Wanna go around? See the city?” Darnell asks now, blinding smile on his lips, his face what feels like miles and inches away all at once.

Leon steps closer to Nurse, hands reaching out to smooth out the lapels of the taller man’s suit.

“I can think of better places to go to,” he replies, voice low. He steps away, offers a smile almost as bright and mischievous as Nurse’s and starts walking towards the entrance, not looking back.

 

* * *

 

“What were you even doing there? You looked so uncomfortable,” Darnell questions, caging Leon in his arms and pulling him in for a kiss. Leon grinned against his lips, pulling back briefly to answer.

“That's classified information,” Leon starts, his short fingernails digging into Darnell’s shoulders for a moment before letting his hands travel lower, settling on the slope of Darnell’s ass. “ _Bastian_ was just hanging out with his friends, having some champagne, donating money to the helpless—” Leon interrupts Darnell’s burst of laughter with a breathtaking kiss. “I can't tell you why, though. We don't work together.”

“You never know,” Darnell replies, every word punctuated with a kiss to Leon’s neck. “This is totally a valid form of networking.”

Leon laughs out loud now and uses his strength to push Darnell onto the bed. “Thinking of joining the dark side? You sound like one of us. _And_ you totally managed to avoid talking about what _you_ were doing.” Leon finishes, lips close to Darnell’s, not quite touching.

“Shut _up_ ,” Darnell says, eyes sparkling before claiming Leon’s lips in a heated kiss, his hands like a wildfire on Leon’s body, all-consuming and burning.

Leon thinks it’s never too late to start being a good listener.

 

* * *

 

Leon wakes slowly, the sun filtering through a curtain he doesn’t remember leaving wide open. It's _way_ too early.

There’s no sign that Darnell was ever there at all, except the bruises on his skin and his rumpled suit laying on the floor.

The navy blue tie he remembers leaving hanging from one of the bedposts is missing, he realizes, laughter bubbling up inside of him.

 _Thieves,_ he thinks, and rolls over into a peaceful slumber. It's a Sunday after all.

 

 

◀▶

 

 

Leon returns from Florida with too much sand in places that he didn’t know sand could even get in, a hangover that will probably last a week, and a metaphorical pocket full of cash.

At least the money he made is safe in an account somewhere in the Cayman Islands.

Maybe he should stop letting Korbs pick the I-just-got-a-million-dollars celebrations. Late night beach escapades were _not_ his best idea. Or tequila shots. Neither are early morning flights when he’s still 56% drunk.

His condo is in the same state of disarray he left it in with a hastily packed suitcase after getting a message offering a one-week job at Florida, but—the door to his room is open.

Leon distinctly remembers closing it, only because in his rush, he had managed to jam his fingers in it.

Weird.

Leon closes the front door slowly, lowers his suitcase onto the living-room floor without making a noise, and crawls semi-drunkenly until he’s crouching behind the sofa. Swiftly, he reaches for the small handgun taped under the sofa, takes the safety out, and _waits_.

Nothing happens for one minute. Two, three, and Leon is growing restless, mind running over countless scenarios, head throbbing.

Now, Leon’s never been much of a religious person, but in that moment, he finds himself letting out a quick prayer to whatever deity is above, wishing this gets cleared out fast enough so he can sleep for about twelve hours.

He takes a deep breath, counts to three, lifts himself from the ground enough to rest a knee on the sofa, and have his head peek over it enough to see if there’s someone there.

Nothing.

From where he is, nothing seems out of place in the room, except—

The bed isn’t as unmade as he left it, and there’s something on top of it. Right in the middle, there's an open velvet case with what looks like two cufflinks inside of it. Right next to it, there’s a brand new tie. To its side, what looks like a seemingly innocent small piece of paper.

Leon can’t help but laugh out loud. He doesn't need to read _that_ to know who this is from.

He didn't know it then, but that was _exactly_ when things got out of hand.

 

 

◀▶

 

 

“Skype call with Kim ran long; sorry about that,” Leon says loudly, entering Adam’s apartment. He’s met with a couple of boos and someone—Cam, probably—throws something at his face with startling accuracy, too fast for him to see what it actually is, too fast for him to swat it away. Leon all but drops a case of beer on the coffee table and promptly flings himself down next to Adam, flashing his middle finger in Cam's general direction.

“You're forgiven, but only because it's Molson,” Jordan sniffs, sounding as posh as one can wearing _orange_ Crocs, honest-to-god jorts, and an Oilers jersey so old Leon can barely see the logo. He sees Jordan’s eyes zero in on the bruises down his throat that he hadn't been able to conceal and immediately wants to cringe. It was enough to hear his sister give him shit about it for a solid hour. She thinks he’s royally fucked and should just quit while he’s ahead.

Leon thinks she’s missing the mark entirely.

“Hey, you’ve been with Nurse again? Or did a wild animal try to maul you?” Jordan asks, waggling his eyebrows in that way that makes him look ridiculous (but Hallsy and Nuge seem to find endearing, who the hell knows why), and, yeah, there's definitely no way of hiding now.

Leon groans loudly before replying, “None of your business,” and fights the urge to cover up the side of his neck.

He _has_ been with Nurse again. More than a couple of times. Maybe even like, fourteen times in the span of three weeks.

Not that Leon is counting.

The thing is, they’ve seen each other enough that they’re past the initial awkwardness of not knowing what to call each other—”Nursey” came easily to his lips the first morning they spent together, trading chirps and harmless kisses while Leon tried to make breakfast from what little food Nurse had in his fridge—the morning disappearing acts, but not the whole _whoops I’ve taken something out of your house, let me replace it with something outrageously expensive_ thing that started with the cufflinks and tie incident.

But there’s no way Leon is talking about it with _Jordan Eberle_ , of all people.

Right now, he feels like he's sixteen all over again, trying to hide the fact that he snuck out to fool around with his high school sweetheart. Except it's not his mom, clad in a blue velvet robe that he’s making excuses to, but a man in jorts and _orange_ Crocs, which makes the situation even more ridiculous.

At his side, Adam snickers. As subtly as he can, Leon kicks him in the shin, satisfied to hear the Swede curse at him. Small victories.

“So, about that job,” Taylor starts, and he's amused, but he also clearly means business. Leon sit up a little straighter.

His phone vibrates somewhere in his pants, and Leon makes no attempt to take it out of his pocket. Now’s not the time.

 

* * *

 

 _wear sth snazzy tonight_ , Nursey’s message says when Leon checks his phone roughly an hour later, accompanied by a row of emojis that make no sense to anyone but Nursey.

Leon _can_ understand the eggplants and the 100s enough, though.

 _who the fuck uses that word_ , Leon replies, and, after hesitating for a moment, fires another message. _since when do i have to dress up?_

 _since i decided_ is all the answer he gets, paired up with one single blue heart emoji.

 

* * *

 

Oh, well.

He’s kind of fucked.

 

 

◀▶

 

 

Leon is in pretty high spirits when he arrives at Nursey’s apartment complex. He successfully manages to pick the lock of the front door in two minutes—a personal record—and damn, today is going to be agreat day. It’s an early Monday afternoon and he knows Nursey isn’t in his apartment, won’t be for at least three hours, enough time for him to do all he wants.

The plan had been to get in early, waltz to the bedroom with a collection of Renaissance art books detailing the history of that movement—he bid on them for a solid week, take _that_ eBay user _mrtopcheese97_ —put them where Nursey keeps his John Katzenbach books, hide _those_ , then putter around in the apartment. Maybe even cook something.

Simple. Easy.

 _Of course, nothing is ever easy when it comes to Darnell Nurse_ , Leon thinks, as soon as he spots Kia Nurse sitting on Nursey’s sofa, clad in sweatpants and what has to be one of Nursey’s hockey jerseys. She looks up from her laptop as soon as the door slams shut loudly.

Leon is very much qualified to improvise. He took acting classes for most of his teen years, and always managed to get the leading roles. He _enjoyed_ those classes.

Unfortunately, the fact that he’s qualified hasn’t actually prepared him to deal with this situation right now.

They stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, before Leon makes a move to drop the books on the coffee table in front of her, and plasters on the most Canadian accent he can muster.

“Hey, you must be Kia! I’m your brother’s boyfriend,” Leon starts, smiling at her, not bothering to try and act nervous—he already is.

“Oh, that dumbass hasn’t mentioned you,” Kia starts, leaning back against the cushions, eyes twinkling with mirth. That definitely runs in the Nurse family, then. “I _knew_ he was hiding something. He gets all weird sometimes, canceled on Skype calls.” She sounds delighted now, and Leon wants nothing more than to throw himself from the second story window. Or maybe throw _Nursey_ out of the second story window.

Leon lets out a chuckle that sounds mostly sincere and puts his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. “This is all new, you know,” he pauses and shrugs. Kia seems to be buying into it. “and Nursey is...” He pauses while he racks his brain for an appropriate word. _Reckless_. _Loud_. _Unstoppable_. _Magnetic_. _Beautiful_. _Unpredictable_. _A force of nature_ , he wants to say. He settles for “special, eh?” 

He kind of hates how much he means all of that. He also kind of likes how much of it’s true.

Kia seems content with his answer and relaxes further into the comfortable pillows. She puts her legs up on the coffee table, careful not to knock over the stack of books Leon had brought in. He shifts from one foot to the other, doesn’t know if this means the conversation is over, if this means he’s lived to tell this tale.

“I’m just gonna...” Leon starts, gesturing to the books, and makes a move to retrieve them from the table, successfully getting all of them in one go and trying to slide out of the room. “What are those?” she asks him, and Leon can hear the freeze-frame-scratch over the comedy movie his life apparently is.

 _Your brother has shit art taste and I want to show him the good stuff. Also, I hate John Katzenbach, so this is me killing two birds with a stone,_ Leon thinks. “Oh, these? We both love art and I decided to get him this collection since I saw it on sale downtown. I think he’s gonna like it,” he says instead, an honest smile playing across his lips. At least he can say he wasn’t lying his way through the entire conversation now.

“Oh, well, don’t let me stop you,” she exclaims, chuckling and going back to her laptop. Conversation over, then.

Leon resists the urge to fist pump and goes towards Nursey’s room, leaving the new books over the bed. It takes him a moment to notice the worn-out paperback on top of a nightstand. Along the spine, there are cracks in places where the book has been left open for too long, marks he recognizes.

It’s his. Leon’s.

It takes him a moment to get back to work, and he feels particularly vindicated when he dumps all the books he’s going to replace into a box he found earlier in the laundry room.

“You’re staying over for dinner?” she asks him, after he comes back into the living room, a big cardboard box filled with all the books he was taking with him to the Eberle-Hall-Nugent-Hopkins household.

 _That was the plan, along with fucking your brother, but that clearly won’t happen tonight. I feel kinda traumatized. I need like, three beers and a pizza,_ Leon thinks. “I would love to, but I have to take _these_ ”—he raises the box slightly—“to my house, and I already had plans with friends.” He was aiming for apologetic and is satisfied when he hits the mark.

Kia makes an understanding noise, hands flying over the keyboard as she types without looking at the screen. “Next time I’m in town, then?”

Leon nods enthusiastically. “Totally! I’ll have to ask Nursey to tell me beforehand, so I can schedule,” _my way out of town,_ Leon replies, leaving the last part out, procuring his most charming smile and flashing it at her.

A few very Canadian pleasantries later, Leon lets himself out of the apartment with his metaphorical tail between his legs and hopes that Kia didn't notice his lack of a key.

 

 

◀▶

 

 

 

There’s something inherently thrilling about having _whatever_ this that he has with Nursey.

Sometimes it’s laughing until he cries because of the running commentary the Canadian man does on whatever movie they are watching. Sometimes it involves spontaneous blowjobs in sports bar bathrooms. Leon’s not picky, and he’s found himself surprisingly willing to bend his own rules when it comes to Nursey. He’s sort of coming to terms with it.

Right now, though, it’s not exactly fun, but it's definitely thrilling, trying to catch Nursey in a room filled to the brim with rich people celebrating. It’s always something.

Leon had managed to make conversation with Mr. Gretzky—the one that paid for this whole circus—for quite a bit before he spotted Nursey in a _burgundy_ suit, so perfectly fitted that all Leon wanted to do was take him to the closest available room and take it apart. Or leave it on and maybe get on his knees.

It's _Nursey_ and Leon is only _human_.

But Nursey has been circling him all night, catching his eye from afar, over the brim of his wine glass before disappearing into the crowd, never letting Leon get close enough.

Times like these make Leon think he deserves an Oscar. Or at least some sort of award for his endurance.

He’s nursing his second glass of wine now, content with talking to Jordan and Mrs. Claire about the animal shelter she started donating to, barely holding in his laughter over her unsubtle and sharp way of critiquing everyone in the room.  It's a moment that feels like an oasis in the midst of all the chit chat about expensive Dubai vacations and golf tournaments, topics that tend to get annoying right after the one hour mark passes. He’s scanning the room and taking a sip from his glass with casual disinterest when he sees a flash of dark red near the glass doors that lead to a balcony.

 _Of course_.

He’s quick to make an excuse, ignoring Jordan’s quirked eyebrow, and he manages to catch up with Nursey just before the glass door closes.

“I got you,” Leon says, voice low, sliding right behind Nursey as the man steps outside into the balcony. He doesn’t touch him because there are too many people around for it; instead, he moves until he stands in front of Nursey and flashes a smile, not quite nervous, but not exactly the smile he has perfected over the years.

There’s something about all of this that makes Leon think it’s Nursey catching him, instead.

“You do,” Nursey replies, voice even, most likely unaware of Leon’s heart beating double time, of his hands getting clammy. Leon finishes whatever is in his glass—he can't _remember_ now—and—there it is. That fucking smile, the same one Leon saw the first time, making lights dim and jewels lose their shine.

From up close, he can see the black tie has a familiar pattern, and it takes him more than it should to notice it’s his _._ “Nice,” Leon musters, voice sort of squeaky, which makes Nursey laugh softly, eyes sparkling.

“Take me home?” Nursey asks him, staring at Leon from under his eyelashes, looking like everything Leon’s ever wanted and then some.

“Home it is,” Leon replies, feeling a little bit helpless.

 

* * *

 

“Leon?” Nursey asks, minutes after they’ve settled in for the night. Leon is facing the floor-to-ceiling windows, every inch of Nursey pressed against his back.

“Hmm?” is all he manages, distracted by the way the moon looks, full and bright against the starless sky. Distracted by the feel of Nursey’s arms around his waist.

The arms tighten up briefly. “You’re staying over tonight, right?” Nursey mumbles into his ear, and his voice sounds incredibly soft and slightly unsure in a way Leon’s noticing for the first time. His heart hammers away in his chest, impossibly fast.

There’s a moment of silence where all he can hear is Nursey’s breathing, all he can feel is the rise and fall of his chest, the thump of his heart against his back, Nursey’s mouth pressed against his shoulder.

Leon wants to say, _you terrify me_. _You, diving into new things head-first, knuckles split wide open and a delighted grin on your lips_. But also, _I don’t think I’ve ever slept better than now most of the nights, when I feel your elbows digging into my kidney at 4am, the bedcovers pushed over, not necessary because you give heat off like a furnace._

Leon wants to say, _you run too hot sometimes, I feel like I’ll end up burning_. Maybe go as far as saying _I’m afraid I’m going to cut myself on your sharp edges_.

Leon also wants to say yes.

It strikes him with its clarity, its simplicity. He is one hundred percent, officially fucked.

“Of course,” Leon whispers back, a secret for Nursey’s ears only.

Leon can feel Nursey smiling against his shoulder, the gentleness when he kisses him right there once, twice. Leon lets out a shaky breath, lets his hands drift to rest over Nursey’s forearms, and closes his eyes.

Sleep doesn’t come quick after that, but when it does, it’s the best he’s had in weeks.

 

 

◀▶

 

 

The job was supposed to be stupidly easy. Sneak into the Bettman Mansion unnoticed while the Bettman’s are off in the fucking Bahamas, or wherever it is that corrupt politicians go on vacation, crack their safe, steal whatever they could, and walk away. Chiarelli would pay them after the items were shipped off to a safe house just on the outskirts of Edmonton.

Naturally, everything ends up going to shit. Leon doesn’t know if it’s some sort of joke, or just pure fucking terrible luck.

“Fucking asshole! _Fuck_!” Taylor swears from the passenger seat. He’s clearly rattled, face beet red. To his side, Cam looks more composed but still a little wild around the edges, hands gripping the steering wheel tight and cursing under his breath at random turns. “I should’ve listened to Nuge,” Taylor continues, punching the dashboard with his left hand.

“Now’s not the time!” Leon barks back, grinding his teeth. Everything is fuzzy and he is sprawled in the back of a car that was supposed to fit them comfortably, but ended up being too small because somehow, Peter fucking Chiarelli had tried to rob them blind. He wanted to have them do the dirty work and take the bounty without paying one single cent, and one of the goons Chiarelli had sent to rob _them_ shot Leon right in the middle of his left buttcheek. Because of course.

That’s just his fucking luck.

“Fucking call Nuge, I don’t know,” Leon trails off, fervently wishing—as he always does in these situations—that he was back in Germany, doing whatever his boring cousins do to keep the Draisaitls’ front of a good, clean business. Leon’s head is awkwardly resting on the back of Jordan’s calves while he kneels on the backseat, shotgun in hand, on alert. They managed to throw them off their tail, giving up on most of what they took from the Bettman Mansion in the process.

“He’s waiting for us at Connor’s house, then we’re going to fuck out from this city for a while,” Jordan says, eyes fixed on the back window. “Fuck,” he adds for good measure when they hit a small bump on the road.

“We’re going to get him back for this,” Cam says, and it sounds like a promise. Leon can’t see it, his eyes squeezed shut in pain, but he can imagine Cam is trying to get a look at him in the rearview mirror. He can imagine Taylor, turned around, trying to get a read on his facial expression. He can definitely feel the shift of Jordan’s legs, doing his best to stay up despite the position they’re bent in.

“Can we focus,” a pause as the car hits a bump on the road and Leon gets jostled around, “on getting this thing out of my ass first,” he manages to squeeze out, and there’s something about it that prompts a bout of hysterical laughter from Taylor first, then Cam, Jordan, ending up with Leon himself wheezing silently.

It's great that that's good enough to dissipate the tension. After all, saying something sappy about how safe he felt with all of them despite the circumstances seemed like too much.

 

 

◀▶

 

 

Leon’s lying on his stomach, lounging in a ridiculously comfortable chair outside some private island’s beach house, which clearly doesn’t belong to any of them, based on the number of dog toys they’ve found in the most unlikely places.

He’s pretty sure it belongs to that Seguin guy down in Dallas, but he’s not gonna ask.

It’s been ten days since Leon got dumped at this place with Adam, Nuge and Jordan, seven days since he stopped being high on crazy painkillers, seven days since all he’s done is lounge around, staying careful because of his injury and taking naps or reading while the milder painkillers do their job. Walking still isn’t the easiest thing to do, but he manages to get around, using a ridiculous metal walking stick Adam painted orange for some annoying reason. He’s not sure how Adam even _got_ the stick or the paint.

He hears them before he sees them, mumbled conversations and bright sparks of laughter matching the barely-there footfalls on the bare sand. Assuming it’s the usual suspects, Leon doesn’t bother lifting his head.

“So, what are you going to do with all your new money?” a familiar voice asks somewhere to his left, and Leon looks that way in a mild daze, squinting a bit before adjusting his sunglasses, and, yeah—that’s Nursey a couple of feet away. A little further away there’s— _everyone_. Connor, Dylan, and Mitch are closest to Nursey, talking under their breath, Connor’s arm casually over Dylan’s shoulder, who is talking to Cam, and the Eberle-Hall-Nugent-Hopkins trio is sharing a moment that forces Leon’s eyes back to Nursey, embarrassed to be intruding on such an intimate scene.

The night the job went south, Nursey was in Toronto, and they hadn’t been able to contact each other right away. When Leon checked his phone a couple days later, he had a frankly alarming number of messages and missed calls from Nursey that trickled out after the second day being off the grid. Leon assumes Nuge or Jordan called Nursey to offer a full report, and managed to convince him Leon was safe enough.

“Is it _finally_ done?” Leon inquires, referring to what most of them stayed behind to do—get back to Chiarelli, take _way_ more money than they were going to be paid, and tossing out a few anonymous tips about his shady business to journalists. Leon’s slightly embarrassed about the time it takes him to get up, more so because Nursey’s eyes don’t stray from him, filled with something he can’t quite put into words. Nursey nods at him, smiling from a distance.

“So? The money?” Nursey asks once again, one eyebrow raised, and Leon feels like laughing until his lungs give out.

“Hm, I don’t know just yet; maybe I’ll go and take some much needed vacation,” Leon starts, a grin that can be only described as giddy on his lips. “Maybe I’ll take someone with me.” He shrugs, faking uncertainty, despite the fact that he’s already planned six different stops around Europe and started drafting the itineraries for his favorite cities. “What about you?” he inquires, wishing Nursey would just come over to Leon and touch him instead of actually answering.

“Oh, you know, investing in stock, buying some good looking suits.” There’s a pause as Nursey strides nearer, closing the gap between them. “Hopefully taking my boyfriend out on a date,” he finishes, and Leon’s heart races. Nursey is kind of stating the obvious here—they’ve been probably playing the not-dating game since the first night they spent together—but hearing it for the first time from Nursey’s lips makes Leon feel all sort of things, wonderful things.

Once they’re right in front of each other, Leon reaches for Nursey in a way that he thinks is probably too dramatic, bringing the taller man into a tight embrace and locking his arms around Nursey’s shoulders. Nursey holds onto Leon’s waist tightly in return, and Leon hides his face in the crook of Nursey’s neck, eyes shut tightly.

When Nursey pulls back, a little too quick for Leon’s liking, Leon turns his face up to meet his gaze. There’s a moment where all they do is chuckle over the ridiculousness of the situation before Nursey presses his lips against Leon’s in a kiss that leaves them both gasping for breath, grinning impossibly wide against each other’s lips once they part.

“Hey, Nurse! What the fuck do I do with this?” a voice Leon recognizes as Adam’s asks, and Leon turns his head, eyes widening when he sees that the Swede is holding a canvas on his arms.

“Seriously? _Cézanne_?” Leon states once he identifies the painting, disbelief coloring his voice.

“The tie,” Nursey says under his breath while gesturing vaguely at Adam, the _what can you do?_ audible in his tone, and Leon can’t take his eyes off Nursey’s lips.

“I don’t really like him,” Leon mumbles back, just to be contrary.

Nursey hasn’t stopped smiling. Matter of factly, he says, “I can always go back and get you something else.”

And he would. Leon thinks he could ask for anything and Nursey would come back with his same part-proud, part-hopeful smile—and maybe Leon’s going crazy, but suddenly some Cézanne, even some fucking _Pollock_ , doesn’t sound so bad with that reality in mind.

Maybe his life isn’t as much of a B-rated comedy as he thought. Hell, at this point, it’s more along the lines of a romantic comedy; he gets his friends, the boy, and maybe some action after this god damned bullet wound fully heals. He can almost _hear_ an 80s band wailing about finding true love in the most unlikely situation.

So Leon does what any sensible man would do in this situation: he ignores the hideous canvas resting on his lounge and leans forward to press a kiss to Nursey’s lips, holding him tight in his arms.

Behind them, the sun sets, painting everything in a golden hue and—considering how badly he wants to stay like this forever, this is definitely a movie.

**Author's Note:**

> “Here I am in a rabbit run, here I am in a valley of pine, waiting for you to find me. I could pretend I’m speaking to everyone (..) but I’m talking to you and you know it.”


End file.
